The noise of a bolt came to Alderley’s ears. Some part of the stiff vigour of the man seemed to have subsided. A time may come when this little chap will need my aid, and, depend upon it, he shall never want a friend in Owen Wood. The birds were singing blithely amid the trees,—the lowing of the cows resounded from the yard,—a delicious perfume from the garden was wafted through the open window,—at a distance, the church-bells of Willesden were heard tolling for evening service. John sat pensively in the back of his best friend's mother's minivan, piloted by his best friend Mark. He felt that he might soon be separated—perhaps, for ever—from the fond little creature he held in his arms, whom he had always regarded with the warmest fraternal affection, and the thought of how much she would suffer from the separation so sensibly affected him, that he could not help joining in her grief. “You poor thing. He refused his food,—and even when better provisions were offered him, rejected them. So you are Prudence Remenham. Well, come back in half an hour. ” He said.
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